Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
An Excerpt from The Hunted
Prologue
Chapter One
About the Author
Praise
Copyright
PROLOGUE
She waited across the road from the house she grew up in until the lights went out and her breathing steadied enough for her to cross. She paused in the front yard, looked up at her father’s window, then decided to go around the back.
The door was unlocked. The familiar smell of stale booze almost made her turn around. She didn’t. She moved down the hall to the ajar door of his office. Stepping around overflowing boxes and strewn bottles, she bypassed the paper-piled desk, making for the corner of the room. She ran her fingers along where the stained carpet met the wall and when she found the loose part, she pulled.
Beneath the carpet was a safe, set into the floor. Her father had never seen her watching him from the doorway as he drunkenly jabbed at the numbers. It had taken her a long time to be confident of the code and even now, when she was sure, doubt slowed her hand. But she keyed it in anyway. No tell-tale beep or sudden alarm. The door clicked open.
The money, bulky in calico bags, was the only thing in there. She piled it all into her backpack, then ran her hand around the metal interior of the safe. Her heart was louder now, even more so than outside.
Then the voice, a scrape of whisky-soaked spite, came from behind her.
‘This is how you ended up then.’
She stood slowly. Turned. Her father leaned in the doorway, little more than a spindly figure in the dark, raising the bottle to swig then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘You won’t find her.’
She asked him, trying to keep the tremor from her voice, where the maps were. She had seen him going over them. Seen him cross-referencing town names with what had to be witness reports, part of his never-ending hunt for the woman who walked out on them.
‘You gonna take the money, too?’ He was drunk, too drunk to be angry. He laughed and she would have hated him less if he tried to hit her. She pushed past him, catching his horrible, sour smell as she made for the stairs. He staggered after her, slipping and falling. ‘You thieving, ungrateful bitch?’
She walked up the stairs.
She had just reached the top when his taunts stopped. She heard the footfalls, heavy and fast. She turned as he reached the landing, and his snarling face was in hers, hand around her throat. He slammed her against the wall, then let go.
‘I should have killed you,’ he said.
She felt it then. The swirling blaze that filled every inch of her, that hardened her voice as she looked him in the eye and said, ‘Yeah. You should have.’
She shoved him. He yelled, swiped for her, then was falling. She heard the crack of the first impact, the crunch of bone bent in ways it wasn’t supposed to, the tiny, almost shy pop as his neck broke and he hit the bottom of the stairs.
The fire was gone, as quickly as it had come. Some shrieking instinct told her to run to him, to call an ambulance. She ignored it.
She found an annotated map in a drawer next to his soiled bed. She put it in the bag with the money.
The walk down the stairs could have lasted years. With each step, his shattered form came closer and clearer, even in the dark. It was only when she reached the bottom that she realised he was still breathing, feeble and uneven. His flickering eyes found her.
As she passed him, he managed a word.
‘Maggie.’
CHAPTER ONE
About a year later
Maggie sensed danger the moment the man walked through the door. Standing behind the dimly lit bar, polishing a pint glass, she glanced up and felt the slightest warning prickle across the back of her neck. It wasn’t that he looked especially threatening; he was middle-aged in a dark blue suit without a tie and hair slicked back in an apparent attempt to hide how little there was of it. Maggie saw plenty of guys like him come through here every night. No, the danger lay in the way he held himself. He stood in the doorway, hands on hips, wide-set eyes lazily scanning the bar, a thick-lipped smile suggesting people should know who he was and be scared.
Maggie wasn’t about to please him on either of those fronts. But she did watch as he swaggered in, running a finger along one of the empty tables and inspecting it for dust. He glanced at the four other customers tucked away in booths lit only by low blue lights, talking quietly over beers, the sound of their conversations dampened by the crawl of mournful country music. The bar wasn’t a happening place. Which was precisely the reason Maggie liked it.
The man took his time strolling to the bar. He placed both hands on it and turned his smile to her.
She kept polishing the glass.
‘Scotch.’ He pointed one ringed finger to the top shelf behind the bar. ‘The single malt. Two cubes of ice, thanks.’
‘Eighteen dollars,’ Maggie said.
The man didn’t move or react. His smile stayed where it was.
Maggie finished polishing the glass and put it away. She picked up another one.
‘Getting thirsty,’ the man said.
‘Eighteen dollars.’
‘New?’
‘Ish.’
‘Andrew hasn’t been doing his managerial duties then. I don’t pay.’
The man waited, but she just kept polishing. His smile didn’t waver but Maggie saw the hot rage in his eyes. She finished polishing, put the glass away and picked up another one.
‘Maggie.’
Andrew stood behind her, watching the man in the suit. He almost always looked pale and worried, and his grey hair and light blue eyes made him appear washed out. Tonight, however, was different. There was genuine fear in his expression.
‘It’s alright,’ he said. ‘Just get the drink.’
Maggie didn’t bother to look back at the man in the suit. Smug smile or grim satisfaction; it meant the same thing. You’ve been put in your place, bitch. Maggie poured the drink and slid it to him.
‘Are you hungry, Len?’ Andrew asked, the quake in his voice almost hidden by determined loudness. ‘We’ve got some good cuts on tonight. Could do you a—’
‘Might just have a couple of drinks while I wait,’ Len said.
Maggie had returned to her polishing, but she was almost certain Len’s eyes were still on her.
‘Wait for what?’ Andrew asked.
Maggie looked at Len. His eyes were cold and hard on Andrew. ‘For us to chat, mate.’
Len made for an empty booth. Andrew’s mouth hung slightly open as Len settled himself. Without acknowledging Maggie again, Andrew hurried out the back. Maggie watched after him until the glass was gleaming and she returned it to its usual spot.
‘Any idea what that was about?’ Evie sidled up next to her, spinning a tray between her hands. Evie was around Maggie’s age with a mass of dark hair barely tamed by a scrunchie.
Maggie shrugged.
‘When Andy saw that man he nearly ran for the door,’ Evie went o
n. ‘What do you reckon? Spurned lover? Grim reaper?’
‘Something to do with taxes probably.’ Maggie poured herself a glass of water from the tap. Movement in Len’s booth snapped her eyes back to him. He was heading for the hall behind the bar where Andrew stood with a bad attempt at an easy smile on his face. Len nodded to Maggie as he and Andrew disappeared out the back.
‘Mind watching the bar for a sec, Evie?’ Maggie asked. ‘I need to go to the bathroom.’
The staff toilet was tucked away in a dingy room where nobody had ever bothered to clean the cobwebs. Maggie shut and locked the door behind her then turned her attention to the small, barred window above the toilet that Evie regularly joked made her feel like she was in prison. Maggie flipped the toilet lid closed then climbed up onto it. The window was high and she doubted anybody would see her from outside, but she was still careful as she leaned close and listened.
‘. . . told you, I need another couple of weeks,’ Andrew was saying, fast and low. ‘Jane’s interstate for work and I can barely afford the babysitter—’
‘Another couple of weeks wasn’t the deal,’ Len replied. ‘You were supposed to have the lot to me last Monday.’
‘You changed the price. That wasn’t fair.’
‘That’s interest, mate. You already had an extension. It’s my money you’re spending to keep this shithole afloat.’
Silence for a moment. Maggie leaned a little closer.
‘You gave me too much.’ Andrew sounded on the verge of tears. ‘I only wanted a couple of grand.’
‘For fuck’s sake, what’s wrong with you? You’re complaining about getting a better deal than you planned for? You needed the money to pay for advertising, and to hire those pretty girls out the front. A couple of grand would have cleaned the dust off the kitchen and not much else. And I don’t remember you complaining when I offered more.’
‘Please, Len,’ Andrew said. ‘We’re friends, right?’
‘Sure, mate. As good as family back in the day. But that makes it a bit worse. You can’t just go around fucking over family.’
‘I haven’t made the money I thought I would. I haven’t—’
‘You’ve got customers in,’ Len said. ‘There’s some money, so that’s what I’ll take. Tonight’s earnings, and every night’s until we’re square. And because we’re friends, I’ll come in myself to make sure the transaction goes smoothly. I’ll come in and be served drinks and at the end of the night, you’ll hand me the cash and thank me for being so considerate. How does that sound?’
‘It’ll kill me.’ Andrew sounded strangled, faint. ‘I won’t be able to pay the staff. I can’t . . . please, Len. Please, just two more weeks and—’
A gasp, then a brief, loud crunch that made Maggie jump and then a quickly stifled cry.
‘Shut it,’ Len said.
She heard whimpering, then a thud as Andrew hit the ground.
‘Come see me at the end of the night.’ Len sounded bored. ‘Get one of the girls to set that for you. You don’t want it healing dodgy.’
Maggie slid from the toilet, unlocked the door and moved swiftly back into the bar. She glanced at one of the mirrors behind the drinks shelf. She looked composed. And, as she’d taken care to ensure, unmemorable. No makeup, shoulder-length dark hair – the only thing about her that might stand out were the clothes that covered her whole body in the heat of Port Douglas, but even those clothes, jeans, boots and a black, loose-fitting collared shirt, were plain and forgettable.
Evie was no longer in the bar and a customer was waiting, tapping his finger impatiently. Maggie adopted an easy smile and walked over to him just as Len swaggered past her.
The rest of the night dragged on. Andrew appeared after about half an hour; his nose a swollen, angry red. Usually, he checked the state of the bar and pointed out things that needed tidying. Tonight, he barely even looked at Maggie. He seemed to just drift in and out, staying very clear of the corner where Len waited like a shadow.
Predictably, Andrew told her to leave early, before she’d even mopped the floors. Maggie didn’t argue. She walked out with her hands in her pockets and even nodded to Len, who just watched her as she left.
Out on the street, she took a deep breath of the warm, salt-tinged air, then scanned the cars parked out the front. One caught her eye immediately: an oversized black, shiny thing with the silhouette of a driver in the front seat. A gangster, then. Maggie didn’t look at the car for any longer than any passer-by would. She put her head down and walked.
She could hear the rumbling croaks of cane toads sheltering from the cars. Above her, the shadows of countless bats burst from a tree, filled the night and were gone. She didn’t even jump anymore when that happened. The bar sat on a side street. It was close enough to the centre of the town to be accessible, but away from the noise of Port Douglas by night. Not that the noise was ever unbearable in this little tourist town, but tourists liked to get loud and drunk. They just seemed to prefer doing it away from Andrew’s bar.
But she hadn’t chosen Port Douglas for the noise or quiet. She’d chosen it because she had never lived anywhere warm before, and the change of scenery felt somehow symbolic. A new place for a new life. She had driven into town a couple of months back, worn out and sick of the road. Her plan had been to have a few drinks, crash in a motel and leave, but she needed the rest more than she’d realised. Or rather, she needed time to heal.
A few drinks in a quiet bar had led her to meet Andrew, who was looking for staff and, a little tipsy, Maggie had taken the opportunity she wasn’t aware she was looking for. Within a week, she had a job and a little apartment in a resort town that somehow managed to toe the fine line between tacky and beautiful. The smells of the ocean and fruit were thick on the air, and the people wandering down the palm-tree-lined main stretch always seemed relaxed. The glass-fronted shops and stalls sagged with bathers and beads, and all-around easy smiles flashed in greeting at the cafés and pubs that had the look of having once been brightly coloured but now were slightly sun-bleached. Everything here was just that little bit spaced out, as though even the buildings were giving each other room to breathe.
Maggie had arrived in the middle of summer, when the air was heavy and humid and the rain would bucket down in relentless torrents. She would sit under cover watching and marvelling at how somewhere so hot could be so far from dry. But as the weeks crept past the rain had slowed, the heat became that little bit less oppressive and she found a whole new rhythm to a life that was, if not normal, then at least pleasantly unremarkable. She had been surprised by how quickly she found herself fitting in. Life here was lazy and unassuming, and nobody looked twice at another young woman working behind a bar.
Maggie’s apartment was essentially a bedsit: one room and an adjacent bathroom with mouldy smell in the air. Her flat was tucked away behind a shop on the main street, accessible only by a narrow alley. It was the opposite of fancy, but Maggie liked the simplicity of it. Everything she owned could fit into one duffle bag if she needed to leave in a hurry.
She never hung around long in the apartment, and tonight was no different. Once inside she went to the tiny bar fridge and took out a couple of beers. She didn’t bother to turn on the lights before she was back out the door and on the main street again. Some of the bars still had sound coming from inside, but it was muted and the town was largely empty. A weeknight.
Usually, she enjoyed her nightly stroll down the main street, but there was a twinge in her chest that she didn’t like. That feeling tended to precede trouble of some sort, and Maggie’s initial interest in staying here had been to avoid trouble. That was half the reason she’d chosen to work for a man who could be knocked over by a light breeze.
Sometimes the beach near the town still had a few drunk idiots staggering about, or else a couple enjoying a romantic, moonlit walk, but tonight, as Maggie preferred, it was empty. The white sand stretching away under the shadows of trees and the clear, starry sky met the dark, l
apping, languid sea. It was as though a blanket had been draped over the place to keep it preserved until dawn, and with no nearby people, it was easy enough to assume the blanket was covering them as well, leaving Maggie the only person awake and aware.
She sat about halfway down the beach and cracked a beer. She took her first sip and waited for that familiar sense of tension unwinding, of another day having passed without being recognised or hunted.
It didn’t come.
Whatever was happening with Andrew and the gangster had nothing to do with her. It shouldn’t affect her life in any way. It was, simply put, none of her business. Andrew was obviously terrible with money and had appalling taste in friends. Those were his problems to deal with.
And yet.
Even thinking this way was dangerous. She had managed to stay ahead of any pursuit for a long time, and it had taken every second of that time to gain enough confidence to settle even in this limited way. Tenuous as it was, this peace was the definition of hard won and Maggie had no interest in doing anything that might upset it.
And yet.
Without Andrew, there would be no peace. He had offered her the fragile infrastructure she needed, even found her the apartment. She was under no illusions; it was no act of great charity, but it mattered to her. What she knew was this: Andrew was a good person, and beyond that, without his bar, she would lose what little she had.
Her first beer was finished. She ground the bottle into the sand until only the top half stuck out. She looked at it for several seconds, considering. The twinge in her chest had built into a low thrum, something electric and angry and simmering, something that she knew, left unchecked, would only keep building. She cracked the second beer.
What did she have?
She lurched awake in the early hours of the morning, then lay there, heart pounding, her eyes on the roof.
She got out of bed and walked to the door. Opening it a crack, she saw that the first touches of light had entered the sky, the clouds turning a vivid blue in the dark grey. She sat down on the front step and leaned against the doorframe. The air was still cool.
The Inheritance Page 1